


A Healthy Dose of Vitamin Sea

by Celly1995



Series: the kazer dick cake fic of shame and glory [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Baker Patrick, Established Relationship, Feelings, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hockey Player Jonny, I'm Bad At Tagging, Love, M/M, Patrick Kane is not a Pro Hockey Player, Romance, Sex, Shower Sex, Smut, Stress Relief, Summer, Summer Vacation, Travel, Vacation, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, adrenaline boner, baker - Freeform, this was supposed to be short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 08:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15926432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celly1995/pseuds/Celly1995
Summary: It's pretty obvious that no matter how much Kaner loves what he does for a living, he's in need of a break and some time away to relax. Jonny's got just the thing in mind.





	A Healthy Dose of Vitamin Sea

**Author's Note:**

> I originally meant to post this as part of the Trope Bingo/Blackhawks Summer Fest, but missed the window. Partially because of RL drama I had to deal with halfway through writing it, and partially because it just...kept...getting...longer. Seriously, what was supposed to be a 300-word recap of some events turned into closer to 12k of said events. Still not sure HOW that happened. 
> 
> Thanks to [groolover](http://archiveofourown.org/users/groolover) for the beta and humoring me in so many ways, to [MajaLi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/majali) for shoving me towards the finish line at the very end, there, and to [hippietoews](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hippietoews) and [byaghro](http://archiveofourown.org/users/byaghro) for much support (and poking me to get this DONE). I owe you all so much ♥

Jonny's still in the shower when he hears his phone ring from its place on the sink. He really doesn't think anything of it until he also hears the tone alerting him to an incoming text message—six separate times. He finishes up under the water within a couple of minutes, wraps a towel around himself, and blinks water out of his eyes as he checks his messages.

All of the texts, along with the missed call, are from Kaner.

 _shit's gone sideways all day long and i am so over it_  
_i hate to do this but i think i might have to bail tonight_  
_i'm going to be stuck here at work for at least a few more hours_  
_i'm sorry_  
_this day can seriously go fuck itself_  
_i'm so sorry jonny_

Jonny sighs deeply. He's been looking forward to tonight for almost two weeks. It's the first time in that long that he's been back in Chicago after consecutive away trips, and he's got a couple of days off before he has to be anywhere important, like practice. He'd stepped off the plane late last night to find a voicemail from Patrick timestamped over an hour before, telling him good job on that day's game and that he was about to go to bed, and the only other time they've really communicated since then has been a couple of texts back and forth early this afternoon, confirming the details of their planned dinner date for tonight.

A date that's not going to happen, after all.

Jonny's about to text him back, reassuring Patrick that he isn't mad or anything and that maybe they'll be able to change their reservation to tomorrow night, when he decides no, fuck that. Yeah, okay, they can probably try that _too_ , and maybe it's just Jonny being stubborn and selfish, but he doesn't want to give up his opportunity to see Patrick tonight, even if it's just for a little bit. He's missed him, texts and phone calls aside.

 _I understand, really,_ he sends back instead. After another moment, he follows that up with _We'll find a way around these stupid schedules or die trying._

There's a nine-minute delay, during which Jonny manages to get completely dressed in everything except for his shoes, and then his phone chimes with _i swear to god it'd better not be the second one_ and then _i miss the fuck out of you, you have no idea._

"Yeah, I think I do," Jonny mumbles as he slips his phone into his pocket and grabs his wallet and keys.

When he pulls up to Kaner's building a little more than ninety minutes later, he sees one other car he recognizes in the back lot. The bakery closed half an hour ago, which means pretty much everyone should be gone. So either Patrick's head baker left by some other method and left his vehicle, or there's at least one person hanging out or trying to help Kaner fix whatever's gone wrong today. That throws off his plan a little, so Jonny makes a couple of improvisations and heads up the staircase near the side of the building instead, using the key Patrick gave him to his apartment to let himself in. He disarms the alarm with the security code and takes a look around. The place looks more lived-in now than it did even a month ago, and Jonny's not sure if it's because he hasn't been in town to keep Patrick occupied and distracted from shit like unpacking, or if he's just finally tired of still living halfway out of boxes for the last several months. Either way, there's more personality to the apartment, and Jonny likes that, likes the evidence that Patrick's settling in in Chicago, maybe even considering it something like home.

He tucks the to-go container of food from Kaner's favorite place into the refrigerator, locks the apartment up again, and heads downstairs towards the back door to the bakery, figuring he's more likely to be heard or seen there than if he tries knocking at the entrance of the empty storefront. He's got his fist raised and inches from the metal door when it opens on him, and both he and Artemi Panarin startle at having someone else unexpectedly on the other side of the door.

"Sorry, Breadman," Jonny says quickly, dropping his hand at the same time Panarin looks heavenward and mutters something grateful-sounding in Russian.

"Good, Captain is here," Panarin says, directly to Jonny. "Maybe you have more luck. He being...hard."

"Hard?"

Panarin makes a face. " _Difficult,_ " he says, apparently finding the word he'd originally been looking for. "Most difficult." He grins crookedly at Jonny. "But he listen to you."

"Yeah, only sometimes," Jonny says with a snort, and Panarin laughs. "What's going on?"

"I try to stay. Tell him I help, can finish things too, even if everyone else gone. But he say no, knows I have date tonight, I go home and not disappoint lady friend." He shrugs one shoulder. "Something tell me _he_ have date also, but he is boss, so..."

"Yeah, I get it," Jonny says. It doesn't surprise him at all that Patrick's looking out for his employees. "He's kind of stubborn about some things."

"Yes. Lot of things."

This time, Jonny laughs. "Very true. He's right, though. Go on your date and have a good time. I'll deal with him." He sends the baker on his way and re-locks the door behind him once he's in, making his way quietly into the kitchen, where he knows he'll find Patrick. "Hey," he says, making Patrick jump and spin around in Jonny's direction.

"Jesus, Jonny, what the fuck, you almost gave me a heart attack," Patrick says, and he actually does look rattled. "Also, what are you doing here?"

"Just making sure you're okay." Jonny crosses the kitchen and leans against the other side of the table from where Patrick's standing. "And sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's not your fault," Patrick mutters, resuming the work he'd been doing when Jonny had walked in. There's a gigantic plastic bin that's two-thirds full of something off-white on the table in front of him, and Patrick's up to his elbows in it, portioning it out with a large ice-cream scoop. "I'm just on edge, still." He gives Jonny a crooked smile, humorless and tight. "I probably would have made a lousy date, even if I'd gotten out of here on time and made our reservation." He completes the pattern on the tray to his right, baseball-sized mounds of something arranged in offset rows with at least two inches in between them. "You're probably best off heading back home and getting some rest after your trip."

Jonny doesn't agree with that last part. "Nah, it's okay. I think I'm going to stick around, unless you specifically kick me out. Besides, you look like you need to vent, and I'm not on your payroll, so no worries about that shit."

Patrick looks up at him, pausing in his scooping for a moment. "It's all work-related bullshit. You don't want to have to listen to all of that crap."

Jonny slides around the corner of the table and bumps their shoulders together. "Yeah? And how many times have I bitched to you about ineffective line combinations, or horseshit calls made by refs that I swear are being paid off by the other team, or the fucking nonsense the league is doing with this whole goalie interference clusterfuck of whatever the shit it is?" Patrick snorts and something approaching actual amusement flits across his face. "So seriously, vent. I'm here, man. And that's where I want to be, even if all you do is rant about shitty customers who threaten bad Yelp reviews or whatever. Fuck, I'll even help you scoop whatever this is while you do it." It wouldn't be the first time he's helped out when Patrick's in a pinch and Jonny's available and actually capable of assisting in some of the work. He really doesn't mind, even if Patrick never seems to believe him about it.

"It's nice of you to offer," Patrick says, shaking his head. "But this shit's finicky and hard to explain as far as technique goes, and I mostly do it by physical _feel_ rather than some other criteria. Artemi's the only other person who's got it down so far, and I kicked his ass out after we closed so there's only one of us having to cancel a date." He grimaces at Jonny, pulling a new greased tray towards him after shoving the first one away. "Again, sorry."

"No, I get it." Sometimes certain tasks are easier done on one's own with a practiced hand, Jonny understands that. And he gets that, as sole business owner and operator, Patrick's absolutely going to take personal responsibility for stuff that needs to be done above and beyond what he expects of his regular employees. "So what happened today?"

Patrick sighs, and Jonny hates the way his shoulders slump a little as if in defeat just at the memory. "It's just a bunch of random shit that all ganged up on us today. Lila's out up front, because her wife went into labor late last night, three weeks early. And Dakota's out back here, because he broke his damned hand 'practicing' MMA moves with some friends the night before last. And when I say he broke it, I mean he's got to have fucking _surgery_ on it and can't work this sort of job for at least a few months, so I've also done two interviews today, trying to find someone to replace him that we can get trained before Valentine's Day. Oh, and the absolute cherry on top? The fucking Health Department just randomly showed up today for an inspection—with a brand new guy, who was being trained, too."

Jonny glances around the kitchen, which, other than the table Kaner's working at and the small pile of dishes sitting at the sink, waiting to be washed, is pretty much immaculate, in as far as he can tell. "Why?" It's not like anyone could possibly have complained about this place. From everything Jonny's ever seen, Patrick's a fucking neat-freak about all things related to the bakery, both back here and also in the front of the place.

"Annual inspection," Kaner says, glaring down at the sticky stuff inside the tub. "Which, yeah, okay, I get. But the thing is, no matter how on top of your shit you are, everything _always_ slows down when they show up, because either employees are afraid to do even the tiniest damn thing wrong, or the inspector's hovering literally over your shoulder so you can't move as fast as normal, or they're making you stop at every third move and answer questions or explain every single fucking thing you're doing. The fucked-up thing is, it's almost easier to have a few things obviously wrong when they show up, because if everything looks perfect to begin with, they just dig harder for the most random bullshit. Do you know what they tried to fine me for today?"

Jonny's almost afraid to ask, but he's also kind of curious. "I have literally no idea."

"The fucking dumpsters outside. You know, the ones that are shared between me, the Greek place, and the pizzeria in this lot?" Jonny nods. "Someone didn't close the lid on them, and it doesn't matter that it's closer to the other two places, or that it was literally empty when they showed up, because the garbage collector had been by maybe twenty minutes before and they're probably responsible—because it's technically where we throw our trash and I'm getting inspected, they tried to nail _me_ \--no one else—with the fucking two-thousand-dollar fine." He huffs. "They didn't, but it took a lot of arguing, and I probably only avoided it because as we're standing out on that landing while I'm trying to make my case, some dude from the pizzeria came out, tossed something in there, and then left the damn lid open. So he got lectured, and then they just sort of dropped the subject."

"But everything else about it went okay?"

Patrick eyes him like Jonny's a little dumb. "Yeah, man, like I said, I have my shit in order, and I make sure my staff does, too. The only other thing they got pissy about was all the handwritten Cyrillic notes Artemi made on some of the recipes and procedures in our binders. I mean, they can't really do a damned thing about it, and it's literally written next to the English text they approve of, but the woman training the new guy was irritated that it wasn't in some language she could easily decipher to verify it all said the same thing. Apparently she'd have been fine if it was in Spanish, because she can read that, but she wanted it typed and official, too—even though probably every professional kitchen in existence has hand-written notes on some of its recipes—so I'll make sure that's done, even if there's only one person in here who can even read it." He rolls his eyes. "But, after all that bullshit, and then them taking over my office for over an hour to actually fill out their official report, we passed with flying colors. But everything got delayed, so this long-ass project—that should have been done four hours ago—is still going to take me another hour to get to the point where I can let it sit overnight on the racks to dry out a little before they get popped into the oven in the morning."

Jonny leans forward to get a better look at what Patrick's working on and gets a whiff of something that smells amazing, sweet and light and also familiar in some way. "I kind of just want to put that all in my mouth right now."

Patrick snickers. "Wow, flashback to that night a couple of months ago," he says, and cracks the first real smile Jonny's seen since stepping in here. "But, yeah, no, I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

Jonny pauses from where he's considering grabbing the small pinch of what he assumes is coconut that's escaped the plastic tub for the table-top and is easily within snacking range. "Not gluten-free?"

"No, it is."

"Then why not? Raw egg or something?"

"Technically, but they're pasteurized egg whites, so that's not what I mean, either." Patrick smirks a little. "I just mean that there's so much fucking sugar in this stuff that I don't think you'd want to do that to yourself. I mean, I've snacked on it here and there, but. Trust me, everyone thinks coconut macaroons are the healthy option, because they're dairy free and gluten free and all that shit, and coconut's one of those foods that gets touted in a bunch of health food articles, but you would not fucking _believe_ the amount of sugar these things have. I mean, they taste awesome, but they are _not_ a low-calorie or low-sugar option."

Jonny debates for a moment. "You know what, fuck it. I'll live." And with that, he snags the stray bit of raw macaroon mix and pops it in his mouth.

It's both a wonderful decision and a terrible one. It does taste amazing, Patrick's right about that, but he can _feel_ the fucking sugar in his teeth—both the slightly gritty texture of partially-dissolved granulated sugar, as well as a whole lot of sweetness that's probably also corn syrup or some other shit Jonny usually tries to avoid.

When Jonny opens his eyes, it's to find Patrick staring at him, smirk still on his face. "So. Verdict?"

"I really don't want to know what the nutritional breakdown is for this stuff, do I?"

Patrick's smirk widens. "No, you really, really don't."

"Well, other than that, they're really good." He sort of rolls the taste around in his mouth for a moment more, then leans down just a little bit so he can get another whiff of the stuff. "I mean, I know it's mostly coconut, as far as the flavor goes, but it's really familiar in another way." He closes his eyes again and breathes deeply. It's not even another food he's thinking of, he realizes, but another sort of association tugging at the back of his brain. After another second, he's got it. "It smells like summer."

"Summer?"

"Yeah, like sunscreen and beaches and tropical drinks and fucking _sunshine_."

Patrick's smirk twists a little, settling into something more like a wry grin as he once again resumes scooping out portions. "That'd be the lemon zest, probably. And I guess I can see why it'd make you think of those things."

Jonny sits in silence for a moment, just looking at Kaner while he works. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he's moving slower than Jonny knows he usually does when he's working—even if it is still faster than Jonny would, if he were to step in and try to help. But overall, Kaner just looks _tired_. It isn't even just a lack of sleep thing, Jonny doesn't think. This reminds him of the way his own face looks towards the end of the season, when his body is beginning to show the evidence of the stress he's put on his adrenals and everything else. He's got an air of general fatigue about him, the kind that's mental and emotional almost as much as it's physical.

"One day, I'll take you on a vacation like that," Jonny says easily, shifting his weight onto his forearms and against the table. "Somewhere tropical, with the beach and fruity drinks and all that shit."

Patrick looks up at that, his hands stilling with a ball of sticky coconut between one palm and the round hollow of the metal scoop. His voice is wistful when he responds, saying, "That'd be fun. It's really not practical, but it _is_ a nice little fantasy," before ducking his head again and going back to work, like he doesn't actually believe Jonny's serious.

Jonny sets his jaw against the dismissal, immediately resolved to find _some_ damn way to make that happen. Because he knows Kaner legitimately loves what he does for a living, but he also knows that he's in need of a damned break. Jonny isn't actually sure when the last time was that Patrick may have taken any sort of time like that for himself, to decompress. And, the thing is, he's not sure Patrick does, either.

And that's something Jonny thinks he just might be able to help remedy.

 

 

 

 

======

 

 

Patrick is really glad to be spending time with Jonny at a quiet, private little barbecue with a handful of other Blackhawks players, because he's a huge fan of there being food and dessert that he didn't have to have a hand in preparing.

Also, hey, cold beer. And Jonny, of course.

"Did you have a good time?" Jonny asks as Patrick plops himself down onto Jonny's couch once everyone else is gone. Patrick gets the feeling that most gatherings like this have gone on later than this particular one, but once the sky had clouded over and the thunder started sounding sort of insistent, things had broken up and the other guests had gone home. The Sharps had stayed a while longer, but Patrick hadn't minded that at all. He's got a soft spot for the whole damn family, and he supposes he and Jonny _do_ owe Sharpy a little bit for their current relationship, even if Jonny hates to admit it to a degree that's actually kind of hilarious.

"I did," Patrick says, tilting his head back so he can look up at Jonny, who's standing over him, behind the couch. "And I know Brandon's girlfriend was nervous I'd judge her baking, but seriously, I'm fucking thrilled to not have had to make another pie after all the ones I dealt with for Memorial Day weekend." He kind of doesn't want to see another apple or cherry pie again for a while, unless it magically appears on a plate in front of him, ready to be eaten. July fourth is almost a month away, and he's already minutely dreading the week leading up to it, unsure if it will be easier to handle after having already survived both Pi Day and Memorial Day.

God, he's glad he's got good help in his current staff. Sometimes, he almost wants to smother some of them in hugs when they step up when things get rocky, but he settles for high-fives and, when business allows, small cash bonuses or gift cards.

If Artemi in particular ever tries to leave him, Patrick's not sure he won't try to hang onto the guy by his damn ankles.

"I think she finally believed you after the sixth time you thanked her for bringing dessert," Jonny says with a laugh, settling his hands on Patrick's shoulders and giving a firm squeeze that makes Patrick's eyelids flutter. "You're tight," Jonny murmurs, moving his thumbs down on either side of Patrick's spine, right near his shoulder blades. He gives another squeeze, and Patrick lets his head fall back against the couch, a quiet moan of pleasure escaping as Jonny digs his thumbs in a little harder. He massages the knots that always seem to form there for another minute or so before easing off and stopping completely.

"Dude, that's not fair to start that sort of thing and just walk away," Patrick says, stretching out his own neck now that the muscles are a little looser. His pushes his chin first to the right, then the left with the palm of his hand, getting a satisfying crack in each direction. Yeah, that definitely helped. One of these days, he's going to finally find the time to visit some place for a full, professional massage.

He tells himself that a lot. It just...never seems to actually materialize into a concrete plan.

"I'll be right back," Jonny says, already halfway down the hallway, and Patrick just lets himself sink a little further into the couch and rest his eyes. It's been a nice day, even if it's now starting to pour outside, judging by the level of noise the rain makes as it hits the nearest window.

"Yeah, okay," he mumbles, letting the white noise of rainfall wash over him. He doesn't snap to until something lands softly in his lap, and then he just looks down at the large, blank white envelope with blue trim until Jonny prods him with a gentle "open it."

Patrick untucks the envelope's flap and pulls out four thick rectangles of cardstock. "Airline tickets," he says, a little confused, because he's not even sure when the last time he even _saw_ legitimate paper tickets was, instead of a printed email or electronic information accessed by phone. And then he actually reads the information on them. "Um," he says, intelligently, looking up at Jonny with his eyebrows raised high. The tickets that depart from Chicago are for the week after the Fourth of July with a destination of Jamaica, and the return trip date is almost two weeks later. And half of the tickets have Patrick's name printed on them. Folded behind the tickets is a sheet of paper that looks like some sort of itinerary. "What the fuck?"

Jonny shrugs as he moves to sit next to Patrick on the couch, and Patrick recognizes that sort of body language, where Jonny's trying to be cool and blasé, but he's actually tense underneath the act. "Do you remember what I promised you a few months back? This is me, actually delivering on it."

Patrick does remember. It was that really shitty night at the bakery, when he'd canceled their date in order to finish the damned batch of macaroons that couldn't be stopped at that point, because the health department had shown up and fucked up the entire flow of the day. He'd thought it was just something for Jonny to say, maybe a way to distract Patrick from all the fun he _wasn't_ having that night, or one of those little what-if fantasies, like when you talk about what your dream home would be like if you won the lottery.

Apparently, he'd judged that one wrong, forgetting that some people actually _could_ act on certain fantasies, and also that he happened to be dating one of them.

"It's, uh, this is a _really_ nice gesture, don't get me wrong," Patrick says slowly, unsure how the hell to break it to Jonny without seeming ungrateful—which he definitely is _not_ —"but I have the bakery to run. I can't just close it for two weeks, especially during the summer—"

"That might not be as much of a hurdle as you think it is," Jonny says, cutting off his protests. His cheeks flush, just a little. "I...sort of...talked to your family about it, already?" When Patrick's too dumbfounded to respond right away, Jonny rubs the back of his neck, shrugging. He looks sheepish, and maybe even just a little nervous, like he's awaiting some sort of backlash. "Erica's already said she'll come out for the two weeks and oversee your basic operations and that the place back in Buffalo will be totally fine with the other two in charge and your parents right there. She said, quote, 'that shit's totally handled, don't let him worry his curly little head about it'," Jonny says, face going even pinker. "So. Yeah."

Patrick opens his mouth to protest again, but nothing comes out. Part of him really does want to protest, maybe because he's so protective of his bakery, even if he's pretty sure Erica can competently manage the place if he's gone for a week or two. Another part of him can barely believe Jonny's been in league with his family for the second time, arranging some sort of surprise behind Patrick's back. He's dated people in the past who would have found their asses single for doing that sort of thing, but it's...different, with Jonny. Given the strength of their relationship and the obvious intent behind such an act, it smacks of consideration instead of invasiveness, and Patrick's not at all angry or upset about it. If anything, he's touched, same as he was last time. And, of course, there's the part of him that actually really _does_ want to take Jonny up on his offer.

"Look," Jonny says softly, when Patrick's opened and closed his mouth a couple more times, trying to make the right words come out but unable to find literally any words at all. "Hear me out for a minute. I really just want to give you this—this thing, this _break_ —and it's not to show off or anything, but because I know you love what you do. You have this passion for it that's pretty obvious, and I just don't want something you love so much to ever feel like it's dragging you down. Stress can do that, especially if you let it build up too long. Trust me, I know that from experience. I don't want your job to be something you resent or grow to dread, when it's something that used to bring you happiness and satisfaction. But I know it's possible that I'm misreading things, and that's not a valid concern, or you're not actually stressed out at all. So I won't push you. You can make up your own mind. The airfare and the lodging deposits are still refundable for a couple more weeks, if you really don't want to go. Hell, if it comes down to it and you decide after that point that you really can't let yourself get away for a while, I'll just change a few things and send my parents or yours, or have them apply a credit and we'll send your sister and her husband off for their honeymoon next year. But the choice really is yours."

There's a lump in Patrick's throat that's been growing a little with every word Jonny says, but once he implies he considers Patrick's family as good as his own, it nearly dissolves into tears. Fuck Jonny for being so considerate that it makes it so damn hard for Patrick to refuse. He really can't deny that he could use a little time to relax after the stress of the last year and a half that's been occupied with getting his bakery up, running, and profitable.

And he'd be a fucking moron to pass up the opportunity to escape from reality for two weeks _with Jonny._

"I want to go," he finally says. His voice wavers a little, but the way Jonny breaks into a grin that can only be described as radiant lets Patrick know that Jonny understands it's not because Patrick's doubtful or hesitant about the decision anymore. "It's—You're—" He can't find the words he wants to say, but that's all right, because Jonny leans in and kisses him anyway, even though Patrick's an inarticulate mess. "I _really_ want to go," he says when they break apart, just so Jonny hears it straight from him, no questions or ambiguity, and then Patrick tackles him into the couch, rolls over and drags Jonny on top of him, and lets himself be kissed stupid.

He thinks about how surreal the whole scenario is periodically over the next few weeks as he makes plans to keep everything at work running as smoothly as possible during his absence, and Patrick thinks it all hits a peak once they walk out of the airport in Jamaica, but he's wrong about that. It's when they step into their beach-front villa, gauzy curtains open to let in a bit of breeze and a whole lot of sunlight framing their personal glimpse of the private stretch of beach right outside their door. Patrick forgets to breathe for a minute, staring wide-eyed at the setting in front of him while Jonny takes care of the details with the guy who helped them with their luggage. It feels kind of like he's been checked into the boards—but in a good way, if that were somehow possible.

He's still gaping at the view when Jonny steps up behind him, wraps his arms around Patrick's middle, and rests his chin on Patrick's shoulder. "Nice, huh?" Jonny murmurs, looking out at everything along with him, and Patrick makes a choked sound that was meant to be a laugh.

"Nice?" he asks, spinning around in Jonny's loose hold so he can look him in the face. " _Nice?_ Dude, 'nice' doesn't even _begin_ to describe it. It's." He swallows hard, like that can get rid of the abundance of emotion that's trying to overwhelm him a little. "Holy _shit_ , Jonny, this is maybe, like, _too much."_ He shakes his head. "There's no way for me make this up to you, dude, and I'll _never_ be able to do something this awesome for you." There's a little lump in his throat that blocks him from saying anything else for just a moment, and it gives just a little bit of squeak to his last couple of words and keeps him from running on from there with everything else he's trying to say. Whatever that is doesn't quite make it out, though—which might be good, because he's afraid that when his mouth starts with actual words again in just a second, it's not going to stop, and he's just going to be babbling completely incoherently.

Apparently Jonny senses that, too, because just as Patrick takes a deep breath and opens his mouth again, he raises his eyebrows and interrupts whatever was going to spill out. "Kaner?"

"Hm?"

"Shut the fuck up." It's direct and plain and maybe just a hint exasperated, but it has the intended effect of getting Patrick's brain to reset from his impending blather, letting him pause and breathe. "We're in this together," Jonny says, voice soft and incredibly serious. "All the way, to the very end." He dips his head a little, pressing their foreheads together. "Right?"

"Right," Patrick whispers. It's a little shaky, maybe, but that's Jonny's goddamn fault for being so fucking sincere and making Patrick want to explode in a mess of incredible feelings and tears.

"Good," Jonny murmurs against his mouth before pressing a gentle, chaste kiss against Patrick's lips and pulling back, and all Patrick can do for a moment is bury his face in Jonny's neck and breathe deep, the scent of Jonny's skin mingling with the light tang of salt in the air.

This is amazing. _Jonny's_ amazing.

Jamaica is _also_ amazing, and Patrick finds himself more relaxed with each passing day of their vacation. While Patrick would have been content to do nothing other than park his ass on the beach and drink a chain of aggressively tropical, boozy concoctions for twelve straight days, Jonny'd thought to actually arrange things for them to do throughout their stay.

And giving up the plan to not move or do a damned thing, and go with Jonny's suggestions instead, has been one of the smarter things Patrick's done in a long time.

For one thing, he'll actually have coherent memories of his first legitimate vacation in over half a decade, instead of a hangover that'd kill him or make him wish it had.

They're staying in Negril during their trip, but between Jonny's forethought and the assistance of the concierge they have access to, they haven't been relegated solely to the western tip of the island. Jonny's loose schedule has kept them busy enough—and has kept Patrick distracted enough—that after the third day, he doesn't even have to consciously remind himself of the promise he'd made to not obsessively check in on Erica and his bakery any more often than once a day. The first half of their stay has included a bunch of sporty, adventure-like activities—hiking and exploring the Blue Mountains northeast of Kingston, swimming in underwater caves not all that far from their resort, doing the rope swings at Island Gully Falls, zip-lining at another place in Ocho Rios—but things have gotten distinctly more mellow from there, and Patrick knows that's by design. They've snorkeled and fished at Montego Bay Marine Park, which was just as beautiful but less physically intense, and even spent a day golfing at White Witch Golf Course before coming back to Negril for dinner at Rockhouse Restaurant—and Patrick's honestly not sure if the sunset view over dinner or the actual food is the more impressive part of the evening.

While at dinner, Patrick overhears a couple at a neighboring table talk about booking a day pass for a nearby resort that has a nude beach and brings it to Jonny's attention. It's almost funny how many expressions flit over Jonny's face in the next few seconds before he responds, and Patrick is nearly positive he can identify the thought behind each and every one in the sequence. There's this subtle raise of his eyebrows and tilt of his head that indicates he's actually intrigued by the idea—Patrick would bet that's the brazen exhibitionist in Jonny, perking up at the thought of being able to walk around naked in public and not being shamed into some sort of modesty—and then there's this super-quick series of micro-expressions that Patrick wishes he could record for playback, to show Jonny what his face does sometimes. He sees hesitation, a flicker of panicked horror, and then just the tiniest shade of self-loathing in the way Jonny's lips purse just a little at the very end, there. If that _isn't_ Jonny suddenly realizing that, for as lucky as he's been that no one's recognized him (or cared, if they had), if ever there's a time someone would, it's when he's deliberately and openly nude and out on display for everyone to see, and then the realization that he should probably steer Patrick away from this idea, even though he's been so good about being indulgent in most other things during their trip...well, then Patrick will let Sharpy pick the design for the next cake he makes for Jonny's birthday.

"I, uh—" Jonny says finally, looking like he's suffering from a very sudden case of indigestion, so Patrick smothers a smirk and has mercy on him.

"Nah, you know what, that's probably something we can skip this time around," he says easily—and ha, that's definitely a hilarious amount of both relief and disbelief on Jonny's face.

"We can?" Jonny asks, sounding super-polite as he reaches for his glass of wine, because he can't just take the win sometimes.

"Yeah, man. I mean, maybe _someday_ , I guess, but, like, I don't know how I feel about having to apply sunscreen to every single inch of my body. And if I sunburned my junk and my ass crack, it'd really cut down on our ability to fuck."

Patrick didn't _mean_ to make Jonny choke and nearly spray Sauvignon Blanc out of his nose, but damned if that isn't the end result.

Jonny throws him a dirty look as he tries to get his coughing under control without making any sort of public scene, and Patrick feels kind of bad, until he remembers Jonny made him suddenly crack up last month while he was brushing his teeth before bed, and he'd gagged on the end of his toothbrush so hard he'd very nearly puked.

"Can't take you anywhere," Patrick says innocently, handing Jonny his own clean napkin, and Jonny glares at him with eyes that are still watering in his beet-red face.

"Oh my God, I hate you," Jonny says, voice ragged, and Patrick just grins at him. He knows he deserves that, but he also knows it's not true. "But we're even now for the toothbrush thing." After a few drinks of water and clearing his throat a couple more times, he sounds almost normal again. "Why do I even put up with you?" he asks, shaking his head.

Patrick shrugs. "Dunno."

There's a light kick to Patrick's ankle under the table. "Yeah, you do," Jonny says, and the fond expression that makes Patrick feel warm inside reappears.

"Yeah," Patrick admits, brushing the tips of their fingers together on the tabletop. "I do."

Their activities veer even more toward the side of casual and relaxing after that night—morning couples' massages, picnics on the beach for lunch, playing around in the surf during one particularly hot afternoon, a stroll along Seven Mile Beach at sunset, and a ninety-minute deep-tissue massage for Patrick while Jonny goes and tries out some class where they do yoga on inflatable mats on the water that Patrick doesn't mind skipping, except for not being able to witness the potential hilarity there—and when they wander over to Rick's Café late one morning, Patrick has the thought that this is the sort of place he could see himself gravitating towards on his own. There's a café with food, as the name implies, but it really comes off more like a bar—complete with all the alcohol-based tropical drinks Patrick could ever hope for. He orders something good for himself and something not entirely boring for Jonny, then takes their drinks over to where Jonny's wandered to watch the crowds of people diving from the cliffs.

There's a gleam in Jonny's eye that Patrick recognizes all too well, and...Patrick might need at least a couple more drinks under his belt before they go much further.

"You're going to do something else that makes the Blackhawks management need anti-anxiety meds, aren't you?" Patrick says after taking a really long drink of his Shark Bite.

"Hm?" Jonny asks, eyes still on the cliff divers. There are some guys Patrick assumes are locals, who are getting ready to jump from the top of a tree, higher even than the billboard some other people are scaling. That fall's got to be eighty fucking feet. Patrick has a feeling Rocky Wirtz and at least one of the Bowmans would personally show up at his home to put the fear of God into him if they knew Patrick wasn't actively trying to talk Jonny out of shit like this. And if Jonny went and fucked himself up doing something like Patrick knows he's thinking about doing, he'd probably have half the goddamned front office standing in line in his living room, waiting to have a turn showing Patrick what sort of things a hockey stick can do, off the ice.

This is a dumb idea, is what he's getting at.

"I'm betting you didn't exactly give anyone within the organization a heads-up you were going to be doing stuff like zip-lining and all those other things we've already done," Patrick says, swirling the colors of his drink together. "But if you actually try to climb _that_ high with the intention of jumping, I'm pretty sure every one of them is going to have this sudden 'disturbance in the Force'-type feeling of unknown terror." He shrugs. "Don't be surprised if they just lock you up somewhere during the last part of the season and the playoffs and probably even the offseason in the future to keep you from doing shit like this."

"Well, lucky for me, I know someone who can bake a file into a cake, huh?"

Patrick huffs. "Already planning to implicate me in your shenanigans, I see."

Jonny's eyes flick away from the divers and to Patrick, amused. "What, are you saying you're going to tell on me?" he asks, his tone light and teasing.

Patrick shakes his head. "Nope. I'm just saying maybe leave that highest dive for the people who do it every day, and stick with something you might survive." He takes another sip of his drink. "And if you promise me I can have another three of these after, I'll even do it with you."

Jonny's eyebrows shoot up. "You will?"

"Yup." It's not like he's never done anything physically risky in his life—he's played hockey in some form nearly since he was old enough to stand up on skates, and once he told Erica her face looked chubby, which is probably as close as he's ever come to his own demise, even if he _was_ right about her face being swollen after she'd just had her wisdom teeth out when she was twenty—it's just that there's something specific about hurling yourself off a cliff that makes his heartrate speed up in a way it didn't _quite_ do when they'd gone zip-lining or done any of their other activities so far during this vacation.

Maybe it's because this is a straight fucking drop, with nothing like a safety harness. Or that he knows people have actually died doing this shit.

"You don't have to—" Jonny starts to say, probably because he can read whatever expression is currently on Patrick's face. But Patrick cuts him off with a shake of his head.

"Yeah, I know. But it'll definitely be something to tell people about." He's pretty sure his friends back in Buffalo would think he was nuts—well, Brant and Gally and a few of the other guys would. AJ would probably shove him off the cliff, jump in right after him with a gleeful whoop, and call Patrick a pussy afterward. "And it'll be something I'll never forget." He quirks one side of his mouth up at Jonny. "We're in this together, right? Isn't that what you said?"

Jonny's smile is slow but wide, showing off his teeth, and Patrick always feels a little proud when he does something that makes Jonny look like that, that combination of content and joyful. "Yeah."

"Then let's do this."

Thirty minutes later, they're approaching one of the designated jumping spots—thankfully not one of the stupidly high ones, though it's also not the lowest one—and Patrick's trying not to over-think what they're about to do. It doesn't help his anxiety any when he catches sight of the white text on the bright red sign to the side of a metal railing:

 _CLIFF JUMPING IS DANGEROUS AND_  
_SERIOUS INJURY CAN RESULT SUCH_  
_AS SPINAL & VERTEBRAE FRACTURES,_  
_JOINT DISLOCATION, MUSCLE AND_  
_LIGAMENT DAMAGE AND SEVERE_  
_BRUISING_

 _STAFF IS POSTED STRICTLY FOR YOUR_  
_SAFETY TO RESPOND TO LOCAL_  
_AUTHORITIES SHOULD A PROBLEM_  
_ARISE._  
_RICKS ASSUMES NO RESPONSIBILITY_  
_FOR YOUR VOLUNTARY CHOICE TO_  
_JUMP FROM THE CLIFFS._  
_**JUMP AT YOUR OWN RISK!!**_

There's also a locked wooden box next to the warning sign with a hand-painted note that reads 'tips for your lifeguard,' and Patrick has the crazy urge to shove half the money in his bank account in there, just in case.

"You okay?" Jonny murmurs, as they get even closer to the front of the line of people waiting to jump. He says it quietly, like he's trying to help preserve Patrick's sense of dignity.

Patrick takes a deep breath and nods. "Yeah." He can't quite believe he's volunteered to do this while damn near sober—this is the sort of thing he'd have previously assumed he'd only do if blackout fucking drunk, if even then, and not with only one drink in his system that's barely given him any sort of buzz—but he's not, like, _terrified._ Just nervous, which is a physical response he thinks is incredibly valid, under the circumstances. "Just. I may not do anything more strenuous than lying on the sand in front of our villa with the world's largest daiquiri in my hand while I listen to 'Cheeseburger in Paradise' on repeat, for the rest of the night, all right?"

Jonny chuckles. "If that's what you want, I'll be the one fetching you extra lime slices or refills."

Patrick's answering laugh is shaky, but it's genuine. "Damn right."

He watches intently as the girl in front of them takes her dive off the cliff—there's enough of a drop that she's got the time to do a fucking _flip_ between the platform and the water— before surfacing and starting to head toward one of the ladders set up to let people get back onto land and, other than the unexpected bit of athleticism, it really doesn't look hard at all. As easy as, well, falling. He can do this.

"Ready?" Jonny asks as they step forward once the spot below is clear, and Patrick just nods, steeling himself. "Okay. On three. One. Two. _Three!_ "

Patrick's conscious of jumping from the edge, aware of Jonny doing the same on his right side, and then he's _acutely_ aware of gravity asserting its dominance as he plunges towards the bright turquoise water below, feeling like he left both his heart and his stomach back up on the platform. It feels like he's falling forever—enough that he almost starts to panic that maybe he's going to hit the surface wrong and fuck himself up, maybe do the world's most awkward, painful bellyflop, and his eyes squeeze shut in anticipation of the bone-shattering and organ-liquefying impact—and then his feet punch through the water and everything's silent and weirdly slow. He forces his eyes open as his decent slows to a stop and everything's...

Everything's _incredible._

He can see through the water far enough to see a few dozen small fish swimming about fifty feet away, as well as all of the rock formations around and below him. When he spins to his right, he can see Jonny's legs kicking as he makes his way up to the surface. The only sound is the surprisingly slow beating of his own heart and a muted splash from someone on another of the platforms to his left. It's dreamlike and surreal, and Patrick knows he's never done anything that feels like this, and might not ever again.

He breaks the surface and heaves a deep breath, and everything's fast and loud again. His heart's suddenly going a million miles a minute, and he's fucking _thrumming_ with the exhilaration of it all. "You fucking did it!" Jonny yells next to him, treading water, and Patrick has an insane thought—just a quick flash that's almost like a sense memory he doesn't actually have, a brief visual of standing next to Jonny on the ice after the ultimate victory with Jonny shouting in his face in pure elation.

"Fuck yeah!" Patrick shouts back, shoving his dripping hair out of his face. _This_ is why people like Jonny do this stupid shit, for the adrenaline rush and purest moment of really feeling how _alive_ you are. He'd thought he got that feeling while doing other things earlier in their vacation, but it all pales next to this. He laughs, looking at Jonny's ecstatic expression, the wildness in his eyes and fierce, wide grin that's bordering on savage. "That was unreal!" He'd probably stay like this, with them beaming at each other like maniacs, until he was too tired to keep swimming, except he glances up and sees someone else about to jump from the platform they were on not thirty seconds ago, so he kicks off and swims towards the cliff wall with the ladder attached, Jonny just behind him.

"So, you want to head back to the villa and lie on the beach until dinner?" Jonny asks after they've toweled off and collected the few belongings they'd had with them when they arrived. "You said something about daiquiris, right?" He's still got a smile on his face that Patrick's pretty sure is going to be there for a while, until the very last of the adrenaline fades away.

"I did, but I don't think that's what I want anymore," Patrick says. He's got too much energy to think about just lying still. He needs to put it to use.

"Okay then, what do you want?"

Patrick looks around, scoping out how close the nearest person is and if anyone's paying them any attention. "How do you feel about burning off some of this adrenaline high?" he asks. He runs his tongue over his lower lip. "Maybe first together in the shower, and then wherever we land after that?"

Jonny's grin gets a little wider. "Sounds like a plan. Let's blow this popsicle stand."

"Or we could blow each other instead," Patrick murmurs, stepping close behind Jonny as they turn around and begin to head for the exit.

"Jesus Christ, Kaner," Jonny mutters, but he does walk a little faster.

Jonny's on him the moment the door to their villa closes behind them, and they stumble their way to the giant window to at least pull the gauzy curtain without separating from each other, in order to implement at least a little bit of privacy. "I still can't believe you jumped," Jonny mumbles into Patrick's neck, tugging at the damp waistband of his shorts until Patrick helps him peel them off, letting them rest where they fall on the floor of the kitchenette.

"Yeah, me either," Patrick says, grabbing at Jonny's tank top and yanking it awkwardly until it's up over his head. He runs his hands over Jonny's bare chest, his fingertips dragging over skin that's still damp and just a little cool. "That's all your damn influence, you know."

"Is it now?" The last word ends in a sharp inhale as Patrick rolls one of Jonny's nipples between thumb and middle finger, and Patrick grins.

"Yeah. Now get your damn shorts off and that ass into the shower." He bends a little and flicks his tongue over the same nipple, the taste of sea salt on his tongue. "Don't keep me waiting," he drawls, stripping off his own shirt as he walks down the hall. He can hear Jonny muttering curses as he struggles with the last of his clothing—probably pissed off that he's so used to stripping down quickly and he's having trouble _now_ —and Patrick grins, flipping the water on and waiting for it to hit the perfect temperature as it shoots from multiple shower heads.

The shower in their villa is fucking ridiculous and over the top, the sort of glass-walled stall that could fit a half-dozen people, if one were so inclined. There's also a tub on the other side of the bathroom, large enough for two people and complete with Jacuzzi jets, but neither of them has actually used it yet. So far during this trip, most of their mornings have been spent showering together and, while there's been a little bit of making out underneath the giant showerhead in the middle that can mimic both a waterfall and rainfall, they've somehow not really taken advantage of the spacious bathroom accommodations.

That's definitely about to change.

Patrick's got the salt rinsed off his face and most of the sand out of his hair by the time Jonny steps inside the shower enclosure, looking like he's got just as much extra energy as Patrick does and is equally as eager to put it to use. "Christ, you look good," Jonny says, stepping in front of Patrick and studying him at arm's length, his hands holding firmly onto Patrick's hips. He sounds like someone who's been on a celery and water diet who's just had a steak dinner and dessert laid in front of him.

Patrick can feel his cheeks heat up. Jonny's expression is open and hungry, and if Patrick weren't already primed for this sort of activity, that look would go a decent way towards getting him there. "Yeah?" It comes out breathier than he means it to.

"Yeah. C'mere." He urges Patrick closer with a gentle tug, nothing more forceful than a suggestion of what he means, and when Patrick's right up against him, their hips and torsos just shy of touching, Jonny slides his hands around to cup Patrick's ass and pulls them fully together, pressing his steadily-firming cock up against Patrick's thigh as he manages to maneuver them both under the central showerhead. "Let's get clean, first," Jonny says into Patrick's ear, reaching behind Patrick for the bottle of shampoo. "And then get dirty."

Patrick snorts. "Promise?"

"Uh-huh." He lathers up his hair and rinses it as if it's a race to get clean, like he's got to be out to talk to the press or make the bus after a game, and Patrick's just barely got shampoo in his own hair when Jonny's hands gently knock his out of the way and start massaging his scalp.

"Dude. Nuh-uh. No fair," Patrick says, trying to sound stern instead of like he's whining, which he maybe is. "You can't just relax me so much that I waste this adrenaline boner. I jumped off a fucking cliff, I—"

Jonny laughs and slides a slippery hand down Patrick's spine, just brushing the top of his ass crack. "We're not going to waste it. I promised, didn't I?"

"I guess so," Patrick says, letting the dubiousness show in his tone of voice and only somewhat intending to get a bit of a rise out of Jonny with the inflection. Jonny just smirks at him and gives a small, deliberate tug to the curls at the crown of Patrick's head before getting back to work.

He lets Jonny manhandle him under the primary standard showerhead to get the shampoo out of his hair and doesn't even argue when Jonny grabs the conditioner—because let's face it, scalp massages are awesome, and even more so when they're administered during a hot shower by your even hotter boyfriend. And he sure as shit doesn't complain when Jonny goes for the bottle of body wash, squirting a liberal amount into one hand before he works it into a lather and starts soaping Patrick up, starting with his shoulders and then slowly moving his way down Patrick's body, washing gently but thoroughly while Patrick just stands there with his eyes closed, enjoying having Jonny spoil him.

He's enjoying it so much, in fact, that he doesn't even think anything of it when there's another plastic clicking sound and Jonny sort of shifts them both a little bit—and then there's a new sensation, and his eyes fly open.

" _Oh_ ," Patrick gasps as Jonny pulls him closer with one hand so that they're pressed back-to-front. His other hand is wrapped around Patrick's dick, moving its way up and down the length of it in a grip that's so light it's a tease, aided by something that's definitely not the body wash they've been using. Patrick arches his hips instinctually, chasing after more friction, and what he gets is Jonny tightening his grip into something firm, satisfying, and more of that delicious slippery feeling as Jonny jerks him off, slow and sure. "Oh my God, what...?" Patrick asks, forgetting the remainder of the question when Jonny thumbs under the head of his dick.

Jonny laughs and draws Patrick's attention to the wide shelf that also serves as a bench. Patrick can't read all of the print on the small bottle, but the larger text proclaims itself as lube designed specifically for use in water.

Fucking hell, the guy is prepared for damn near _everything_. No wonder they figured he was responsible enough for captaincy. "Look at you, thinking ahead," Patrick says. "Proactive instead of reactive, huh?" Jonny just laughs again, soft and warm in his ear. Patrick loves it when he sounds like that—open, happy, without anything resembling worry anywhere on his radar.

Patrick lets his head loll back onto Jonny's shoulder, barely even noticing the small droplets of water that splash his face. He's perfectly happy to go wherever Jonny wants to take him right now. He's made excellent decisions on their shared behalf so far this vacation, and Patrick doesn't think Jonny's going to start steering them wrong now.

It's another really smart move on Patrick's part to just give in to Jonny's judgment.

It takes no goddamn time at all for Patrick to go from _this feels nice and I am definitely up for this sort of thing_ to seriously worked the fuck up to the point he's making these little involuntary whimpers as Jonny holds him firmly in place with one forearm, hand splayed over Patrick's chest, while he continues to stroke Patrick's dick at a pace that's just a hair slower than his body wants, filling every last bit of him with a clamoring urge for _more_.

"Okay?" Jonny murmurs, barely audible over the running water and the blood pounding through Patrick's veins.

Patrick nods and decides to return the favor. It takes some stretching and subtle leaning to get Jonny to allow the flexibility he needs to reach the bottle on the shelf, but he gets it without Jonny even having to break rhythm. Maybe Jonny thinks Patrick just wants a little more lube for himself, but he doesn't seem to expect it when Patrick reaches behind his back with a handful of the stuff and uses it to slick up Jonny's shaft, and Patrick's gratified when he shudders a little. "Feel like you should get in on this fun, too," he says, grinding back against Jonny so that his erect cock nestles into the crack of Patrick's ass. "Unless you'd rather not?"

Jonny doesn't reply with words. Instead, he grunts and adjusts his stance behind Patrick before really stroking Patrick's dick in earnest, a move that also serves to steadily rock Patrick against him and use him to rub one out.

"Yeah, there we go," Patrick says, Jonny's harsh breaths right in his ear. He's able to move one arm behind them both and grab Jonny's ass, squeezing and kneading at the tight mass of muscle. Jonny's sped up to a pace that's got Patrick's arousal climbing higher and higher, and his orgasm is now a thing he's closing in on instead of chasing but having it stay maddeningly out of reach. But a few minutes later, it hits him how hot and steamy it is in the shower stall—and between the increased temperature in both his body and the bathroom, and the ever-increasing humidity that's making him work harder for each hit of oxygen, taking heaving breaths that just don't seem quite full enough, Patrick realizes that this is almost too much. It's still good, he's still getting there, but he wants better.

"Hold on," he pants, reaching for the nearest adjustable control for the shower spray. "I'm just gonna..." He twists the knob slowly to the right, and the cool water on his overheated skin is heavenly. Jonny, who's getting most of the water's direct impact, moans and shudders behind him as his fingernails dig slightly into Patrick's chest. It's low and guttural and insanely arousing, and then Jonny dips his head and bites down on Patrick's shoulder, and Patrick's knees actually go a little weak.

Jonny takes his weight effortlessly, keeping him steady until Patrick gets his own feet under him again, and once he's good, Jonny moves them in tandem, going backwards a single step and turning them just a little so that the water hits them both, and Patrick gets the full effect of the temperature change and understands Jonny's moan as a ragged gasp escapes his own throat.

"Oh fuck," he breathes, every sensation suddenly heightened just by the juxtaposition of cool water and hot skin, every nerve sensitized. They're both under the flow of water enough that they're rinsed clean of everything except the lube, and when Jonny mouths at Patrick's shoulder again, Patrick reaches up, tangling his fingers in the hair at the back of Jonny's head, and twists his own neck until he can capture that mouth in a kiss, messy and desperate. Jonny breaks it off after a moment to lave at Patrick's neck, licking and sucking in the way Patrick likes best, and Patrick knows he isn't going to last much longer.

"I'm—I'm close," he pants. He's got a minute, maybe two, if he _really_ tries to hold out. "Are you—are you gonna—"

Jonny must understand his meaning even if the words aren't all there, because he hums agreement against Patrick's skin, the buzzing sensation centered at the dip behind his ear and edge of his jaw sending goosebumps down his arms and chest, and tilts Patrick a little more against him so that his hips tilt up and Jonny's dick slips into the spot between Patrick's thighs. Patrick clenches on instinct as his orgasm builds, everything in his core heavy and tight, and Jonny grunts in his ear and moves his hand faster around Patrick's cock, adding a little twist of his wrist at the end of his strokes.

That, that's it, _right there_ , and Patrick means to tell Jonny that, only nothing comes out of his mouth but these high, needy whimpers, and before he manages to get his voice to work, his whole body lights up in climax and he's spilling over Jonny's hand as his body convulses with electric pleasure.

Apparently that's what does it for Jonny, because Patrick can still feel the minute trembling in his own muscles when Jonny tenses behind him shortly after, hips jolting in nothing that at all resembles the rhythm he'd kept just a minute ago, and comes between Patrick's legs with a tortured-sounding groan that makes Patrick shiver.

"Oh my _God_ ," Jonny slurs as they both attempt to wash completely off under the spray of water. "That was..."

"Intense," Patrick finishes for him, tipping his head back to let the cool water trickle through his hair and down his back. He feels fucking amazing, even more than he usually does after sex with Jonny, and he closes his eyes for a moment and just enjoys the feeling of the running water on his skin. Typically he's so relaxed after his orgasm that he's ready to fall asleep almost immediately, but he doesn't have that familiar feeling this time, that pleasant sensation of dropping off and slipping under. He waits for it to catch up to him as they both step out of the shower and dry off, but it never does. He's almost done finger-combing some smoothing serum—something from one of the Blackhawks players' wives, gifted upon hearing Patrick bitch about what humidity does to his hair—into his curls when he thinks about the fact that he's unusually invigorated likely being connected to the flood of adrenaline he'd experienced in jumping off that cliff with Jonny beside him. He looks up at Jonny's reflection, meaning to ask him if he's feeling anything similar, but the words never quite form on his tongue. Jonny's staring at him through the mirror, and his eyes are dark and hungry in a way that seems primal and always makes something flutter in the pit of Patrick's stomach.

They lock eyes through their reflections, the same thing communicated between them without a single word or noise, and Patrick turns around and steps into Jonny's space, letting the towel around his waist slip off his hips and onto the tile. "Bed," he says, voice firm despite the low volume. Jonny nods just once, moving him backwards into the bedroom with his hands on Patrick's hips to guide him.

They tumble onto the bed, the cotton cool against Patrick's skin, and lie there together on their sides, facing each other. He's still got plenty of energy, but he's not fifteen anymore, and he's probably going to need another twenty or thirty minutes before he can get it up again. It's nice to just be able to take their time for nothing more vigorous than making out, trading lazy, sweet kisses and caresses. Patrick really concentrates on the physical sensations of the moment—the gentle drag of Jonny's palm up and down Patrick's spine, the press of Jonny's tongue as he licks and sucks at Patrick's neck, the firm warmth of Jonny's skin under Patrick's fingers, the soft, barely audible noises Jonny makes when Patrick nips at his earlobe or strokes his foot up Jonny's calf, and the subtle hitches in Jonny's breathing when Patrick sucks on the tip of Jonny's tongue or uses his teeth to tug gently on Jonny's lower lip. It's all fucking wonderful, and Patrick wants to catalogue every little bit of their time together this vacation, to have accessible in his brain whenever he and Jonny have to go several days at a time without even being able to really catch each other on the phone, let alone have any sort of in-person contact.

Patrick can feel the gradual increase in the energy between them, those brief moments and actions where things move a little faster, go a little harder, and everything's just a little more electric. He thinks his body might be able to just about take a shot at round two—sooner than he'd have expected—and he's about to make a move to indicate his intention when Jonny takes Patrick's hand in his, raises it up over their heads, and rolls them both over so that Patrick's on his back and Jonny's on top of him, pinning him to the mattress with his bulk. "Goddamn it, I love it when you do shit like that," Patrick murmurs, feeling his whole body flush.

"Noted," Jonny says, grinning, like he doesn't already know that shit. "You think you're ready to go again?"

"Yeah, maybe," Patrick says, because he's at least close to being there. Jonny raises up on his knees a little to kneel between Patrick's thighs, palming Patrick's dick, and Patrick's changes his answer as his cock starts firming up under Jonny's hand as he massages it. "Scratch the maybe," he breathes, his hips arching instinctively towards Jonny. "That's a definite yeah."

"That's what I like to hear."

They take it slow the second time around, indulging in mutual lazy handjobs, just enough to keep each other hard and interested. When Jonny's breathing picks up a little of that harshness Patrick's so familiar with, Patrick hums. "So, you wanna fuck me, or...?"

"Pretty much always," Jonny says with a snort, like it's the dumbest question he's heard in a long time. "But I was thinking that I could suck your dick, first." He raises his eyebrows at Patrick, making it a question after the fact. That face says he's waiting for an answer, but he's also pretty sure he knows what it is.

Given the way his cock literally twitches at Jonny's offer, Patrick isn't going to answer in any way that'll surprise him.

"I can't exactly think of any objections to this proposition," he says, like it's something he took more than a millisecond to consider.

Jonny huffs a laugh and gives a small half-shake of his head. "Well, that's good," he says, sliding off the side of the bed and gesturing for Patrick to stand as Jonny kneels and sits back on his heels, and then he doesn't say anything for a while.

"Okay, you've gotta ease up or pull off or something," Patrick pants, trying to keep from pulling Jonny's hair so hard that he inflicts pain. He's having flashbacks to the night he and Jonny'd first hooked up in Patrick's hotel room in Chicago, back before they'd exchanged more than nicknames. The memory of Jonny on his knees, still wearing his goddamn jeans in his eagerness to blow Patrick after some pretty spectacular making out is not helping Patrick's restraint and stamina right now, like, at all. "Because it'll be better if you fuck me before I come again, and if you don't stop really friggin' soon, I'm gonna come down your throat instead."

Jonny laughs—at least Patrick thinks it's a laugh, but it's kind of hard to tell with Jonny's mouth full, wrapped around his cock—and Patrick grits his teeth as the vibrations make a shiver ripple through him. Fucker'd almost laughed that first time, too—Patrick vividly remembers the smirk on Jonny's face and the amused "why, you got places to be after this?" when Patrick had told him they were in danger of wrapping things up pretty quickly if Jonny didn't lessen the intensity. This time, Jonny gives one last firm suck and pulls off, grinning like the bastard he is when Patrick's knees threaten to buckle at the sensation. "I wouldn't usually mind," he says, wiping the saliva from his chin with the back of his hand, "but I really _do_ want to fuck you." There's a tinge of hoarseness to his voice and just the hint of a slur in his speech, the same way the edges of his words kind of blend together when he's had a rough night on the ice and does press with his lip split and swollen.

"Then let's get the fuck to it," Patrick says, extending one arm and clasping Jonny's forearm to help him up off the floor. It's not like there's been any shortage of sex during this vacation, but Patrick's not wasting an opportunity if he can help it. Besides, they've got dinner reservations in some top-rated restaurant that's supposed to be super romantic, and this will help them work up an appetite. "I want you just as into this as I am."

Jonny looks down at his swollen, upright cock, sort of gesturing to it with his chin, and raises his eyebrows. "And just what do you think this means?"

Patrick snorts and climbs onto the mattress. "I didn't mean you don't seem into it. What I meant was more that we should _both_ have orgasms that are immanent, because it's usually more fun that way."

Jonny shrugs as he steps up to the bed after Patrick gets situated, but he's grinning as he opens the condom wrapper and slips it on, a step that's generally unnecessary, but sure as hell makes cleanup easier. "Fair enough."

Patrick's gratified to hear Jonny gasp and then hold his breath once he finally pushes the tip of his cock into Patrick's ass, and Patrick's enough of a bastard to clench around it, just a little, while Jonny holds it there and lets Patrick adjust. Jonny makes a noise halfway between a growl and a whimper, and digs his fingertips into the flesh of Patrick's hips, an involuntary spasm that Patrick thoroughly enjoys. "Asshole," Jonny mutters behind him, relaxing his grip, and Patrick laughs this time.

"Yeah, that's definitely where your cock is," he agrees. "But seriously, give me the rest of it already, would you? I'm good."

Jonny obliges, slowly sliding the rest of the way in at a speed Patrick suspects is actually more for Jonny's benefit than his own. Patrick's just now realizing just how physically worked up Jonny is—despite having had an orgasm not even an hour ago and having very little in the way of manual stimulation of his dick in a good ten minutes—and it's pretty good for his ego, honestly. Of all the goddamn people in the world Jonny could have chosen to be with, it's Patrick who gets to be the one to turn him on, press his buttons, and share in intimate moments.

Patrick's still doesn't know how the fuck he lucked out so hard, but he sure as hell isn't complaining.

When Jonny starts to move, it's slow and measured, and Patrick can feel the restraint Jonny's exerting. "Little worked up there, Toews?" Patrick teases, adjusting his position on the bed so that the angle works for them both—he can hold himself up a hell of a lot better when he rests his weight on his elbows and forearms instead of his wrists and hands, and it provides other bonuses as well—and Jonny's thrust times perfectly with Patrick's shift so that he bottoms out just as Patrick feels himself relax and open up, Jonny's hips pressing up against Patrick's ass.

"More than a little," Jonny grits out. "So, y'know, unless _you_ want this to be over in about ten goddamn seconds, go easy, eh?"

Patrick stays silent regarding the Canadian ending of that sentence, even though he wants desperately to joke about it. Instead, he allows himself a grin that Jonny can't see. "Yeah, okay," he agrees. He can wait. Jonny's pretty thoroughly taken care of him this afternoon—not to mention this whole goddamn vacation, really—and Patrick's happy to return the favor and let him enjoy this for a while. He's not greedy. "Take your time, I'm not complaining over here."

"It's not my fucking fault you've got me so turned on," Jonny mutters, readjusting his grip on Patrick's hips, and Patrick takes the opportunity to give his dick a couple of slow pulls to satisfy a little of the urgency it's trying to convey during this activity.

"I thought that was the jumping off a cliff and giving the finger to mundane living or mortality or whatever that's been doing it for you." God knows it's done great things for Patrick's libido, and that sort of shit's not even his scene.

Jonny laughs, the sound breathy and a little ragged. "Fine, maybe it's both." He's finally starting to get an actual rhythm going, even if it's at least half as slow as usual. "But seriously, you look so fucking good. I mean, I'm always into you—shut up," he huffs, interrupting himself as Patrick snickers, because, yeah, Jonny's definitely _into_ him right now, "but relaxation looks good on you."

"Well, you can thank yourself for that one," Patrick says, because it's completely true. He takes himself in hand again and tries to time his strokes to Jonny's measured thrusts. "Between the island getaway and a bunch of pretty good sex, I've gotta say, I'm definitely feeling more relaxed."

Jonny snorts. "Pretty good sex," he echoes, and Patrick smirks a little, somehow forgetting what a little bit of challenge can do to Jonny's approach. He doesn't even get to make another smartass comment in response, because Jonny apparently decides he can Be Better about yet another thing, shifts his position somehow, and nudges Patrick's prostate with the tip of his cock.

It's so unexpected—and so fucking _good_ —that Patrick's weight-bearing arm basically gives out on him, and he drops with a grunt, the side of his face smashing against the bed. "All right," he says, mouth full of pillowcase. "Well-played, dickhead."

"Sorry, what was that?" Jonny asks, the smirk obvious in his voice as Patrick raises himself back up. "Couldn't quite hear you with your face shoved into the mattress."

"I said that you're a competitive freak," Patrick says, shoving a bit of hair out of his eyes, "but that I amend my earlier statement to _'really_ good sex.'"

"Yeah, well, I try," Jonny says, and then goes on to prove it by finding that sweet spot, hitting Patrick's prostate with every third or fourth thrust, and Patrick can't even come up with a reply because pleasure's short-circuiting his brain.

"Okay," Patrick pants a couple of minutes later, finally managing to string words together in place of the moans Jonny's been dragging out of him. "If you've been trying to get me to hurry up and come because _you're_ having a hard time holding off—oh my God, fuck, yes, okay, it—it's definitely working, because I'm not sure I can hold out too much longer, even _without_ anyone touching my dick."

There's a significant falter in Jonny's rhythm, and Patrick glances back over his shoulder and meets his eyes. Every time Patrick's caught a look at him during their current activity, Jonny's eyes have either been squinty or fully closed, but now they're wide. "You think you could?" Jonny asks, and holy shit, he sounds wrecked in a way even Patrick's early fantasies of the guy hadn't come close to. "Come untouched, I mean?"

"If you keep doing what you've been doing, yeah." He's never actually come without direct stimulation of his dick; even when he or Jonny's taken advantage of all those nerve endings before, there's also been definite attention to his dick at the same time, and that's what's always gotten him there. "I mean, maybe I can't, but I wouldn't take offense, man, because I've never even thought I could, before." Not even playing on his own. And whether that's because Patrick needs better toys, or he needs to find a better position that's comfortable to hold for a significant length of time, or because by the time he's halfway there, he's too worked up to focus on hitting everything with perfect precision, or just that he's impatient enough regarding his orgasm to do what he knows will work to make him come and that involves his hand on his cock, it's all the same result in the end.

Jonny swears under his breath so low that Patrick can't even tell if it was all in English and nods, working smoothly back up to his previous pace. Thirty seconds of much more sedate movements while they've talked have given Patrick a chance to physically come down, but he's still pretty sure this thing is possible.

Jesus, if he were on his back right now, it might've already happened. Fucking Jonny face-to-face is always good, and that's usually their reliable position for this sort of thing because of the angle. Maybe he should—

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Patrick gasps as Jonny works whatever skills and determination or straight-up magic he's got, the tip of his cock pressing against Patrick's prostate with virtually every thrust, now. All thoughts of the physics or geometry or whatever the fuck go flying out of his head, and Patrick twists his hands in the sheets underneath him to keep from trying to touch himself to get his climax as immediately as possible. His entire goddamn body feels like it's perched on the verge of _something_ , and if this keeps up much longer, he might actually start sobbing. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck, shit—"

"Yeah?" Jonny asks from behind him, but his voice is dimmed by the blood rushing past Patrick's ears. Patrick can't even answer; he just shoves his own face down into the pillow between his arms in an attempt to smother the high-pitched whimpers that have replaced the swearing.

It only takes a few more seconds, and then Patrick's entire body spasms with an intensity he's not quite ready for, and he's spilling onto the sheets even as he tries to muffle the shout that feels ripped from him, as if there's any fucking chance Jonny won't hear it. He hears a startled-sounding grunt behind him even as his vision whites out and his hearing goes muffled as everything outside of the physical sensations of his body fades away, leaving only the sizzling heat and ecstasy of the most powerful orgasm he's had in as long as he can remember.

When Patrick's brain comes back online, he's lying with his face turned to the side, breathing hard, and he can feel the wet warmth of his release between his stomach and the bed. Jonny's collapsed on top of him, sucking air like he's just done bag skates until he was ready to drop, and Patrick's skin tingles everywhere the air touches it and feels like heated iron is pressed against it everywhere Jonny's own skin makes contact. There are still faint shocks of pleasure flowing through him, little pulses of sweet heat deep down in his stomach and up his spine, and he closes his eyes and concentrates on those for a moment. Jonny shifts just a little, slipping out of Patrick as he does so before he collapses again with a shaky sort of breath, and Patrick moans at the sensation, low and soft, reaching out blindly until he finds Jonny's hand and laces their fingers together.

Somehow they both make a half-assed attempt at cleanup and drag themselves onto the bed properly before flopping back down together. The heat of Jonny's front plastered against Patrick's back and of the arm he's slung around Patrick's middle so that he can lethargically stroke his hand up and down Patrick's stomach and chest is the perfect counterpoint to the cool sheets and crisp pillows, and Patrick lets himself drift but not quite doze. He's careful of his movements a little later when he rolls over so that he can face Jonny without disturbing him, wanting to enjoy this for as long as possible.

His brain is playing him back fragments of memories—of their vacation so far, but also of their first night together, of all the moments in between then and now—when a thought occurs to him and he laughs out of both surprise and amusement, breaking the stillness of the room that's been filled only with their heartbeats and breathing.

Jonny looks at him, a cross between drowsy and just plain content, and raises his eyebrows, asking what's so funny without opening his mouth. "You know that saying adults always use with kids and teenagers when they want to do something dumb that someone else is doing or aren't thinking for themselves—the one about 'if everyone jumped off a cliff, would you do it, too'?" He snickers. "Apparently, I would. For _you,_ anyway."

Jonny snorts a laugh and slides himself a little lower in the bed so they're eye-to-eye. Patrick thinks he's going to say some smartass thing in response, but instead Jonny tucks a damp curl behind Patrick's ear, strokes his jawbone lightly with his thumb, and smiles the soft, private smile Patrick likes best. Patrick moves in and presses their lips together, feeling that smile open up under his mouth, and gives a happy, faint hum as he kisses Jonny in a way that makes something flutter in both his chest and his stomach.

There's an air of lazy, soft sweetness to the rest of the afternoon, and whether that's the after-effects of the cliff jumping's adrenaline fading or a result of two pretty amazing orgasms within about an hour of each other, Patrick neither knows nor cares. They don't talk much in the few hours between their time in bed and when they have to get ready for their dinner reservations, but it's pleasantly comfortable, maybe even perfect. Instead of words, the time is filled with casual touches, intimate smiles, making dumb faces at each other, and easy laughter. It's like those sappy scenes in romance movies where the couple slow-dances together in their kitchen, only real and actually happening to him.

Patrick's slipping on his shoes, still waiting on Jonny to emerge from the bathroom all ready to go for dinner, when his phone buzzes several times in a row from within his pocket. He slips it out and looks at the text alerts, all from Erica, who's only been sending him nightly emails with the info he'd asked her to keep him apprised of:

 _OH MY GOD_  
_WHAT THE FUCK_  
_SHIT_  
_THIS ISN'T ABOUT THE BAKERY DON'T PANIC_  
_IS THIS SERIOUSLY YOU????_

The last one has a link to Instagram and another to Twitter following it, and Patrick opens the tweet first. It's from some account Patrick's never heard of—just some random person as far as he can tell, no blue checkmark or anything, and only about forty likes on the tweet—and at first doesn't realize what it is he's supposed to be looking at. There are four photos with a caption, and the words simply say "think i found a hawk on my jamaican vacation." The first two photos are of a smiling blonde girl and what Patrick assumes is her boyfriend, a grinning dude wearing sunglasses and swim shorts with his arm around her, but from different angles. The next two, however, are enlarged images of part of the background of those shots, and that's when he sees Jonny pretty clearly, standing on the platform probably half a second after the girl in front of them in line at the cliffs had jumped. Jonny's obviously the focus of those two zoomed-in images, but Patrick's face is clear enough to anyone who might know him—and thank God, he doesn't look terrified or anything embarrassing like that.

The Instagram post is a video, and the text below it says "Lookit all these nutcases throwing themself off a cliff. It's gorgeous and all but gimme my drink and my nice safe beach anyday," followed by long string of assorted hashtags. The video itself isn't exceptionally long, but Patrick can count at least six different people who jump from the various platforms at Rick's before he spots himself and Jonny at the platform nearest to the camera, clearly enough that he can lipread Jonny's countdown before the both of them launch off the platform and fall towards the water below.

There are more people jumping before the video cuts off, but Patrick doesn't really watch. Instead he finally answers his sister before she floods his inbox some more. _Yeah, that's us_

 _ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?????_ she sends back as Jonny steps into the living room, holding one shoe and obviously hunting for its mate, and he looks so good that Patrick almost wants to suggest cancelling dinner and staying here to go for round three and maybe even four.

 _Maybe a little_ is all he replies with before turning off his alerts and slipping his phone back into his pocket, snagging Jonny's missing shoe from its hiding spot underneath the couch and presenting it as he leans in close enough to nip at Jonny's earlobe. "Ready to go?"

Jonny grins at him, then steals a quick kiss. "Yeah. Hungry?"

"You could say that," Patrick says, giving Jonny's ass a squeeze before opening their front door as Jonny laughs. "Let's go."

Patrick's known about their reservations for this restaurant for a several days at this point, but he's just sort of assumed this place is similar to the place they dined at the other night, a dining room that fits around twenty other couples, looking out over the water and facing the sunset with just enough rock overhang to keep the sun from blinding anyone there early enough in the evening.

He's wrong on one very crucial point of that assumption, however: there are definitely not going to be any other couples around as they eat tonight.

They pass right by that exact sort of restaurant, a part of a resort that's not the one they're staying at, and then are led past another, much smaller cave where a couple in their forties is posing for photos near the entrance, and then to a third cave about the size of the second one, and the first thing that Patrick sees past the abundant tropical flowers and dozens of lit candles is that there is only a single table set in this space, with only two chairs around it.

"You arranged for a private fucking dinner for two, in a cave overlooking an ocean sunset?" Patrick hisses at Jonny once they're seated and alone for a moment to peruse the menu.

Jonny's movements still, the menu half-raised in his hand, and he clears his throat. "Uh. Is that a problem?" He looks nervous, like he's trying to comprehend how badly he may have fucked up with this plan.

"Only because you didn't give me a goddamn heads-up first, and now I have to wait until we get back to the villa in a couple of hours to jump your bones!"

The tension leaves Jonny's body all at once, and Patrick feels a little bad he freaked him out like that but honestly, he figured Jonny knew by now this isn't the sort of thing Patrick's going to be upset about. Jonny grins at him and takes a sip of the water they've been poured. "I hear the food's worth the wait, though," he says, "so I guess you'll just have to practice some patience."

"Better be," Patrick jokingly mutters. "But I'm not the only one who's impatient."

Jonny scoffs. "You really want to see which one of us can hold out the longest?"

Well, one, that's kind of fair, but two, no, he definitely doesn't. "Fuck no," Patrick laughs. "Do you?"

"Not at all. Glad we've got that settled."

Patrick just grins and opens up his menu. Jonny's such a dork. And Patrick's totally into it.

The food _is_ good, and Patrick refrains from making any more overtly lewd comments while they're having dinner at The Caves. The ambience is unlike any other place Patrick's been before, and he just doesn't want to ruin it. The view is gorgeous, and evolves into breathtaking as the sun actually starts to set, painting the sky in reds and oranges and golds that melt into pinks and purples. It's not the first sunset Patrick's seen in Jamaica, obviously, but something about the intimate setting heightens everything about it, like this is somehow something the universe has created just for them. Dessert arrives when the water is deep blue and there's only a faint band of pink and violet on the horizon, and when they leave The Caves, even that's gone, leaving behind a streak of indigo that separates the cobalt sky from the inky water.

"Feel like a little walk?" Jonny murmurs into Patrick's ear as they look out over the ocean just past the other resort's property.

Patrick nods. His lips and the tip of his nose tingle slightly from the wine at dinner and with dessert, but it's just the lightest buzz under the surface of his skin. "Yeah."

They wander down to a nearby public beach that may as well be private for as deserted as it is. The breeze is comfortably warm and billows the arms of Patrick's short-sleeved shirt whenever he turns to face the water. He and Jonny carry their shoes as they walk, clasping their free hands together between them. Their villa isn't far from here and following the coast will lead them almost directly to the property, and Patrick can't think of a better way to get home.

It's a leisurely stroll, neither of them in any sort of hurry to bring the night to an end, and Patrick's going to miss the relaxation of this trip once they get back to Chicago and have to live in the real world again. But he knows he'll be better able to tolerate it all now—all the frustrations big and small—having had this chance to let the built-up tensions seep out of both his brain and his body, replaced with a sort of peace and clarity he hasn't felt in a long time. It's been a balm to body and soul, and he's both amazed and grateful that Jonny saw the need for it when Patrick couldn't, and then took steps to make it happen.

He wants to say something to express the enormity of everything he's feeling as they gaze out over the water at the moon, but no words seem even remotely adequate, so he just gives Jonny's hand a squeeze and rests his head on Jonny's shoulder, trying to commit everything about this moment to memory. Jonny only responds by letting go of Patrick's hand to wrap his arm around Patrick's waist instead, holding him close as they stand in silence. Patrick breathes deep and closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again, Jonny's looking at him instead of the water. "I love you," Jonny murmurs, and Patrick's breath hitches. When Jonny dips his head for a kiss, Patrick raises his to meet him, and the entire moment is a surreal whirl of almost euphoric affection as they breathe together, joined in the sort of intimate moment that used to exist only in Patrick's dreams.

It's late when they slip inside their villa, and everything still feels tinged with gentle sweetness as they make their way into the moonlit bedroom, where the curtains are open enough to see the beach and the stars above, and a slight breeze blows in through the cracked window. Jonny strips him down slowly, sucking kisses into Patrick's neck while Patrick's hands slip underneath Jonny's shirt, and their lovemaking tonight has none of the frenetic feel of their two earlier sessions. They don't speak at all while they're in bed, and Patrick thinks that this is the quietest they've ever been in this sort of moment, but it's perfect tonight. There are only soft moans and whimpers, gentle nonverbal sounds of encouragement and pleasure in the dark, and when Jonny comes, spooned behind him with his face pressed into Patrick's shoulder, Patrick's not far behind him.

Jonny's breathing is deep and even when Patrick whispers his name, but he hums acknowledgement against the back of Patrick's neck to let him know he's listening. Patrick covers the hand Jonny has splayed across Patrick's chest with his own hand and squeezes it, pressing it against where his heart beats steadily, slow and relaxed. "Thank you," he says, voice kept low in the dark. "For everything." Jonny makes a soft sound of inquiry and Patrick squeezes his hand again. "Everything about this trip—everything we've done together—it's all been beyond amazing."

Jonny nuzzles his shoulder and manages to cuddle even closer. "You don't need to thank me," he says, then yawns. "Like I said..." he begins, but doesn't finish.

"Like you said..." Patrick prompts, wondering if he's just gone to sleep mid-thought.

"All the way, to the very end," Jonny says on a sigh, and Patrick feels a fluttering in his chest. "'Sides," he slurs, "if this is good, wait till our honeymoon." The last word is barely out before his body goes completely slack and his breathing deepens even more.

Patrick, however, nearly stops breathing. They haven't actually ever _talked_ directly about the possibility of them getting married, though it's sort of been understood that it's not off the table at some point years down the road. He has a sudden, incredibly visceral moment of _want_ at those words, so much it almost hurts, before it's swallowed up in love, sweet and pure. After a moment, Patrick rolls over and snuggles against Jonny's sleeping form. _We're in this together,_ Patrick hears Jonny's voice say in his head, an echo of the words he'd spoken when they'd first arrived here. _All the way, to the very end._ Warmth and contentment fill him at the memory, and he lets the sound of the waves in one ear and Jonny's heartbeat in the other lull him to sleep and ease him into dreams of their future.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I was in the middle of writing the shower scene (which was taking me damn near FOREVER) when, without knowing anything about what I was working on, [thundersquall](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersquall) joked about how Jonny wouldn't be satisfied with himself until he made Patrick come three times...and I nearly cried, because I'd literally JUST realized they were going to have another round of orgasms immediately after the shower scene, and I wailed at someone else about how I'd lose my damn mind if she'd jinxed me into having to write THREE damn sex scenes when I usually don't even write ONE....and then it more or less happened anyway XD


End file.
